A hand landed on Corvus's shoulder. He turned to see Mikel beside him, giving a thumbs-up, a glint of admiration in his green eyes. "That was cold, man. Ice cold. Would've jumped in, but..." He gestured vaguely at his own lean frame. "No weapon, and frankly, I'm about as useful in a fistfight as a wet noodle."
Corvus managed a grim half-smile, patting Mikel's shoulder. "Don't sweat it. Already pegged you as a Pushover."
"Hey!" Mikel protested, feigning offense. "I'm not a pushover. I just maintain an air of dignified fragility. Getting my face rearranged in front of potential admirers? Catastrophic for the image."
Kiera, now seated and roughly wiping blood from her brow with a grimace, piped up. "Damn Cap, ruining the fun! I really wanted to see you take a chunk outta that slab of meat, Corvus." Despite the wound, her eyes held a spark of disappointment, not fear.
They settled onto the bench as the hall fell silent. Captain Cesara stood rigid before them, arms clasped behind her back. The draped case rested ominously on a raised platform behind her.
"I understand you have questions," she began, her voice cutting through the quiet. "Time constraints prevented full disclosure. What you hear now is classified. Utter one word outside this room, and the consequences will be severe." Her icy gaze swept the recruits as guards moved to the exits and shutters were secured over the windows, plunging the hall into dim, lantern-lit gloom.
"Two months ago," Cesara continued, "a village north of Waylend Fields was attacked. Patrols found... nothing. No bodies, no signs of struggle. Just emptiness." She paused, letting the unsettling image settle. "Then, the villagers returned. Changed. Our patrols were overrun. The... affliction... spread like wildfire across Northern Kaaraore. We were forced to establish quarantine perimeters, manned by our best, to prevent it from reaching the south." Her voice hardened. "No cure exists. Its origin is unknown. This is why we sail."
She glanced at the lavender-haired woman, who gave a curt nod. With a swift motion, the woman pulled back the white cloth covering the case.
A collective gasp, followed by murmurs of disgust and horror, rippled through the recruits. Inside the glass container lay a severed limb. But it was no human arm. Twisted, clawed fingers ending in spiked talons oozed viscous, blue-tinged pus. Greyish, necrotic skin stretched taut over unnatural bone structure. Most horrifyingly, despite being severed, the limb twitched and spasmed weakly against its confinement.
Corvus's stomach lurched. His eyes snapped to Mikel beside him. "Waylend Fields," he hissed, his voice low and urgent. "How much did you know?"
Mikel's usual calm was replaced by a grim tightness around his eyes. "Only what they told us villagers. Rabid beasts from the mountain passes. Quarantine. Patrols. When the Captain recruited me... I knew it was worse."
Cesara clapped her hands sharply, the sound like a gunshot in the tense silence, reclaiming attention. "Time is critical. Preparations are incomplete. You are now comrades. Watch each other's backs. Once we cross the Ocean's Wall into Elygar, the unknown awaits. We lack time for formal drills. Survive by instinct. By will." She outlined the formation: her leading, the rest spread out at individual intervals. "Supplies will be issued. Use them wisely. We sail at dawn. Further instructions en route. Questions?"
A petite recruit near the back, her hair starkly divided into white and black halves, raised a tentative hand. Cesara nodded.
"How... how do we cross the Wall?" Her voice was small but carried the weight of the unspoken question in every mind: How does a ship breach an eight-hundred-foot barrier?
Cesara's lips curved into a sharp, almost feral grin. "Why, we go over it, of course. Isn't that obvious?" She didn't elaborate. "Dismissed. Report to your assigned quarters. Rest. Prepare. Or spar – but keep it controlled." Her gaze swept over Varek, still radiating simmering aggression. "I have duties. See you at dawn." She turned on her heel, a pivot of pure authority, and marched out. The priests followed, carefully re-draping the horrific case. The lavender-haired aide and the ancient man with the cane shuffled after them.
Varek was the first recruit on his feet, striding after the departing officers as if he belonged among them, casting a final, contemptuous glance back at the others.
Corvus watched him go, the cold promise solidifying in his gut like a shard of ice. Your time is coming, Varek. That debt will be paid.
Kiera giggled, swinging her legs like an excited child despite the blood drying on her forehead. "Over the Wall! Hah! This is gonna be awesome!"
"You mean utterly terrifying and probably lethal, right?" Mikel interjected, paling slightly. "No vessel survives an eight-hundred-foot drop!"
"What, getting cold feet now?" Corvus chuckled darkly, the image of the twitching limb still fresh in his mind. "This mission was always a suicide run. This just adds... flair."
Mikel puffed out his chest. "Not scared! Just... strategically apprehensive. Forget doom and gloom! We've got one night of relative freedom in this charming stone cage. Let's explore! Find a tavern that doesn't smell of despair and weapon oil!" He threw an arm around Corvus's shoulders.
Kiera bounced up, cracking her knuckles, a manic gleam in her eyes. "Screw taverns! Sparring! I need to work off this frustration! Who's first?" She eyed Mikel speculatively.
"Didn't you nearly get your skull caved in an hour ago?" Mikel protested, edging slightly behind Corvus. "Maybe see a medic? Or, you know, nap?"
"Huh?" Kiera rounded on him, fists half-raising. "You tryin' to pick a fight, Beansprout?"
Corvus sighed, the weight of fatigue and the day's revelations pressing down. He stood trapped between Kiera's bloodlust and Mikel's forced cheer. "Guys," he groaned, rubbing his temples. "All I want... is to find my bunk and sleep."